


I Knew It Was Wrong, I’m Beyond It

by malapertqueen



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Belts, Coming Untouched, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex Crying, Verbal Humiliation, read the notes and the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:35:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malapertqueen/pseuds/malapertqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of prompts/short fics from my tumblr. Mostly Whamilton, but probably a scattering of other pairings as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Knew It Was Wrong, I’m Beyond It

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see how this goes, huh? None of these are connected unless otherwise specified.
> 
> Title is from Lana Del Rey's "You Can Be the Boss"

Blindfolded and on his knees, the only sounds Alex can hear besides his own breathing are the steady scratch of a pen against paper and the erratic pounding of his heartbeat. Occasionally, from somewhere nearby, he hears Washington sigh or shift in his chair as he writes, but otherwise nothing, not even from outside the office. He has no idea how much time has passed since Washington slipped the blindfold over his eyes, but it’s been at least a half-hour judging by the way his knees are aching. It’s something else for him to focus on other than the anticipation of what Washington will do to him once he decides to pay attention to Alex again. **  
**

Granted, he brought this punishment upon himself; keeping his mouth shut has never been Alex’s strong suit. He might have gone a little too far this time, outright mocking Jefferson in the middle of a meeting after insulting his proposals in front of the rest of the staff, but it had been worth it in the moment to see Jefferson’s smug face wiped of that insufferable little smirk he always wore whenever he and Alex were in the same hemisphere.

However, he hadn’t been at all surprised when Washington demanded to see him in his office after the meeting and had locked the door behind them. Those broad palms had curled over his shoulders, pushing him down to his knees in front of the dark wooden desk, and Alex had obeyed without question.

Those same fingers had worked his tie from under his collar and bound it around his eyes before walking away without a word. Alex had heard rather than seen him sit down, and the sound of pen on paper meant he was likely taking notes on one of the reports that either Alex or John had left on his desk that morning. As old-fashioned as it might be, Alex loved that Washington still wrote his notes longhand; watching those thick fingers wrap around one of his custom Mont Blancs, the wrinkle that forms between his heavy brows as he focuses on the words…

The sound of movement breaks Alex away from his thoughts, the sound a drawer opening and closing, then heavy footsteps as Washington makes his way around the desk. He stops close enough that Alex can hear the small sigh he lets escape as his fingers curl around Alex’s jaw, forcing his head up and back.

“You’re not even sorry for what you did, are you.” Washington asks coldly and Alex gives the smallest shake of his head in response. He won’t lie–it never goes well, when he tries to lie to Washington–but he hasn’t been given permission to speak yet either.

“Arrogant, disrespectful little shit.” A thumb presses against his mouth and Alex opens up obediently, letting it slide between his lips. “I should send you back to your office. You don’t deserve this.”

The whimper is involuntary, out of his mouth before Alex can even choke it back. The grip on his jaw tightens and Alex has to tip his head forward to keep himself balanced on his knees. “What was that?”

He shakes his head again, feeling tears stinging at the corners of his eyes under the blindfold. The thumb slips from his mouth as Washington lets go of his face and Alex nearly whimpers again at the loss but the sound chokes off into a gasp as his hair is grasped roughly, tugging his head back again.

“You. Don’t. Deserve. This.” Washington punctuates each word with a tug on Alex’s hair. He’s definitely crying now, humiliated tears soaking into the makeshift blindfold as he arches upward with each tug. “Such a fuck-up. I should fire you right now, make you walk out of the building like this.”

It’s too much, every word hitting him like a body blow. He hates disappointing Washington, when is he going to learn to just keep his mouth shut? “I’m sorry,” Alex gasps, unable to stop himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–”

The crack of a palm across his cheek startles a sharp cry from him. “Did I say you could speak?” Washington growls, low and angry, and Alex tries to bow his head in contrition but is stopped by another sharp yank of his hair.  

“Can’t even apologize right,” he sneers, shoving Alex down and away hard with enough force that he has to reach out to brace himself, falling back from his knees onto his ass. “Waste of my time, trying to teach you to act like something besides a punk kid. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

Alex forces himself back to his knees, shuffling forward until he’s nearly pressed against Washington’s legs. “Please,” he whispers, voice thick with tears. “Please, sir, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything.”

Washington laughs, but there’s nothing humorous in it, only cold derision. “You’re only good for one thing.” Alex almost sobs aloud in relief at the sound of Washington unbuckling his belt and the faint metal-on-metal scrape as he unzips his suit pants. This he can do without needing to see, the action almost as familiar as breathing, his hands automatically finding their way to Washington’s hips before sliding down his pants and boxers far enough to free his cock.

There’s no room for thought in his head, everything focused on the way Washington’s cock tastes in his mouth as Alex swallows him down, choking a little when Washington’s hips stutter upward into his mouth. One of those broad hands cups the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, guiding Alex’s head ruthlessly as he tries to relax his throat, gagging once or twice before he finds the rhythm of it again.

“Cockwhore,” Washington growls, but his voice is unsteady, a sign that he’s not as unaffected as he’s pretending to be. It gives Alex a little more confidence, makes him work a little harder, working Washington’s dick with his tongue as he pulls back, sucking on the head just long enough to make Washington swear before he swallows him down again. He is good at this, he knows he is, and the way Washington is groaning above him is proof of that.

Some far away part of his brain knows he must look absolutely filthy–tear-stained cheeks and spit-shiny mouth stretched obscenely around Washington’s thick cock, his own hard and aching dick tenting his pants, but he doesn’t care, focused only on making up for his fuckups, doing what he can to make Washington proud of him.

The only warning he gets is Washington’s strangled gasp of his name before bitter salt fills Alex’s mouth. He tries to swallow it all, keeping Washington’s cock between his lips until the hand in his hair pulls him back, much gentler this time. He feels the same hand pluck at the blindfold and blinks against the sudden brightness as it’s lifted away from his eyes.

It takes a second for his vision to adjust again, between the blindfold and the salt-sting of tears, but he doesn’t look up until a hand cups his jaw and tips his head back far enough that he can see Washington’s face. He looks wrecked, eyes dark and chest heaving as he catches his breath. Alex ducks his head,, trying to look away, but the hand on his jaw keeps him from moving.

“Such a good slut,” Washington murmurs, almost fondly, and Alex bites back a whimper, the words going straight to his neglected dick. He desperately wants Washington to let him go so he can go jerk off in the bathroom or something equally disappointing. It’s all he deserves at this point, if he’s even allowed to come at all. It wouldn’t be the first time Washington has denied him the privilege, and he definitely hasn’t earned it.

Alex drops his gaze back to the floor as Washington tucks his dick back in his boxers and fixes his pants. “Can I do anything else for you, sir?” he asks, wincing at the roughness of his voice and the way it cracks a little at the end.

“Get up,” Washington orders, and Alex bites back a curse as he scrambles to his feet, his hips and knees aching. He barely has time to steady himself before Washington’s hands are on him, fingers tugging his shirt out of his pants and working his belt and fly. Before Alex can protest, his pants and boxers have been tugged down over his hips and he’s being bent face-down over the desk, Washington’s hand pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him there until he complies.

“Count,” he says coldly, and Alex shudders with the realization of what’s coming next. “If you come without permission, you won’t come again for a week.”

“Yes sir,” he whispers, and then he hears the clink of a belt buckle again and has to stifle a moan. Fuck, fuck, _oh no, fuck_ –and then there’s nothing but white-hot pain as the leather of the belt connects with his bare ass.

It’s half a second before he even remembers he’s supposed to be doing something besides shaking, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wood of the desk. “One, thank you sir,” he whispers, and Washington sighs.

“You can do better than that.” He sounds bored, and Alex doesn’t have time to brace against it before the belt hits again, more force than the first blow, and it’s like a switch flips in Alex’s brain. His body sings with the pain, arousal burning hot under his skin.

“Two, thank you sir,” he says, stronger this time, and Washington chuckles.

Three and four come in rapid succession, barely enough time for Alex to count, and he has to arch his hips up and back towards Washington to keep from rutting against the desk to get some kind of friction on his aching dick. Tears are streaming down his face again and he can’t stop shaking, gasping for each breath.

He chokes out a “Five, thank you sir,” on the next snap of leather against skin, and he can’t stop the moan that falls from his lips when Washington traces a fingertip over the same spot, lifting his hips up into the touch.

“Greedy,” Washington murmurs, and Alex sucks in a sharp breath when he feels that fingertip dip lower, just barely brushing across his asshole, his dick jumping in response. God, he’d give anything for Washington’s fingers right now, filling and stretching him so perfectly, like he was made just to take them.

Distracted by those fingers, Alex doesn’t anticipate a sixth hit and jumps when it strikes, perilously close to where Washington’s fingers had just been, and he sobs. “S-six, thank you sir, _oh god, please_ , please please.”

“Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yes, yes, I promise, please.” Alex can barely get the words out through the tears and the want, every inch of his skin on fire. There’s a thud from behind him as the belt drops to the floor, then a soft noise that Alex can’t quite identify, and suddenly there’s a cool, slick finger pressing back against his hole.

“Oh god yes, please,” he babbles, more nonsense tumbling out of his mouth as that finger presses inside, so perfect and yet not enough. He ruts back against Washington’s hand with a whine, heedless of anything except the need thrumming through his veins. “More, _more, please don’t stop_!”

A second finger slides in beside the first and Alex has to bite down on his fist to keep from crying out when they curl inside him, stroking across his prostate with deliberate accuracy.  “Please, please, please let me come,” he begs, desperate for the orgasm he knows is just within reach if Washington will let him have it.

Those thick fingers keep sliding in and out of his ass as Washington leans over him, draping his larger body over Alex’s smaller one, bracing his free hand on the desk, his breath hot against Alex’s ear as he murmurs into it. “Do you really think you deserve to come?”

“ _Please,_ sir,” Alex begs, rocking his hips back against Washington, who growls low and raw. His fingers pull out of Alex entirely and Alex whines at the loss until a hand smacks against his ass, reigniting the stinging pain of the stripes from the belt. It’s sharp and sudden, almost on the wrong side of pleasure-pain, and Alex bites down on his fist again to muffle the scream.

The two fingers return, shoved roughly back into him, then Washington’s voice growls hard and commanding in his ear. “Come, _now_ ,” and Alex’s entire body shakes, vision whiting out at the edges as he cries out and comes all over the polished wood of the desk.

There’s a voice murmuring something Alex can’t quite parse as he slowly pieces himself back together, breathing hard and still shaking. He feels rather than hears the words, the rumble of Washington’s voice settling under his skin, his breathing evening out as a broad palm strokes along his spine, bringing him slowly back down from the haze of his orgasm.

“Good boy.” There’s a hint of warmth in Washington’s voice that Alex just wants to sink into, letting the praise wash over him like a wave of indulgent pleasure, but it doesn’t last long. When Washington speaks again, his voice is hard and cold. “Don’t fuck up again. Next time I won’t be so nice.”

Alex shivers. “Yes, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me about founding fathers porn on [tumblr](malapertqueen.tumblr.com)


End file.
